


Safe

by Metal_fist_of_Hydra



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24507778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_fist_of_Hydra/pseuds/Metal_fist_of_Hydra
Summary: When Glorfindel of Imladris rescued a young male Elf, he didn't realize that Mírion would be the dearest thing ever in his heart.
Relationships: Glorfindel/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. The Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Glorfindel is reborn and sent back to Middle Earth. He takes refuge in the Last Homely House, lead by Elrond, and goes on with his life, killing Orcs, saving people, helping wherever he can. His life is quite calm and undisturbed, until one day he comes across several Orcs who keep a few Elves captive.

**_Prequel:_ **

His sword was black with blood. Glorfindel wiped it in the grass and sheathed it. Corpses of the massacred Orcs were lying around him, their blood seeping in the ground, killing the grass.

Glorfindel went on to check on the Orcs' captives. He noticed the fool beasts a few minutes before from afar and saw how they were herdering several Elven slaves. He swiftly took two of the Orcs with his bow but the three remaining were quick to think and turned on their captives. Glorfindel managed to kill two more of them but not before the last one could raise his sword against the captives. Glorfindel arrived just on time to chop off his head and stabbing another one who was still moving.

With a heavy heart, he stated that there was nothing more he could do for the murdered Elves. There were three of them, two succumbed quickly to their lethal wounds. The third one looked lifeless as well. Glorfindel released a bitter sigh, and reached for the third Elf with vaning hope. The young Elf was not moving, his eyes were closed, dirty clothes full of blood.

Glorfindel could not say if it was his own blood or the slaughtered Elves. He lifted the young male in his arms, laid him gently on the grass and began to examine him. The Elf stirred on the grass, and moaned in pain. Hope flared in Glorfindel's eyes, and he swiftly reached for his little flask of miruvor. Prying apart the Elf's mouth, he made him drink a few drops. "Hold on, my dear friend. Come back to the light."

_________________________

_**A few months later:** _

Glorfindel's heart warmed upon seeing the lithe form kneeling infront of a big flower. Mírion was working in his garden again, tirelessly as always. Upon sensing Glorfindel's arrival, he got to his feet, turned and smiled at the warrior. Glorfindel smiled back and took in Mírion's form proudly. The Elf standing infront of him was dressed in light grey velvet tunic, his dark hair woven through by delicate silver chains which were adorned by mithril drops. His eyes were deep blue and there was a light in them, faint but full of life.

He was beautiful and Glorfindel's heart swelled with pride. 

"Come here", he said and opened his arms. Mírion went to him smiling, without hesitation. He snuggled up to Glorfindel, and let himself be held for a long time. 

Glorfindel let his hand wander on the dark head, caressing the hair, careful with the silver chains (he gave them to Mírion as a gift) and breathed in the young Elf's smell. Mírion smelled like apricots and lily of the valley. It was a smell that always renewed Glorfindel's life energy. Mírion was his secret treasure, his hidden jewel, his sweet burden, his charge. 

Truth to be told, Glorfindel has no idea about what the youngster would mean to him when he rescued Mírion from the Orcs. The young Elf was barely alive back then; it took lots of Elrond's healing power and several days of combined effort of the healers to get Mírion to return among the living and to open his eyes again. Glorfindel found himself walking up and down in the healing wing for hours before Elrond has had enough of it and kicked him out; but he would return the next day, demanding to see their patient who was lying on the bed, white and seemingly lifeless.

On the day Mírion opened his eyes, it was impossible for the healers to get rid of Glorfindel. He would sit next to the bed, holding Mírion's hand. After a feud between him and one of the healers, Elrond finally relented and let him be there for their patient. It was actually the warrior to whom the ill Elf would tell his name, the only thing he ever told about himself. He whispered his name, barely audible, like a leaf in the wind, while holding hands with Glorfindel and looking at him with teary, deep blue eyes.

And that was the only occassion ever that Mírion spoke.


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of mystery ensues.

Nobody really knew why Mírion didn't speak. Elrond was sure it was the result of shock. Glorfindel just had the gut feeling that his lovely rescue simply did not want to speak. Whatever the truth was, Mírion did not say any words anymore after sharing his name with Glorfindel.

His healing took a long time. He couldn't walk unaided, and had to sit down often. Glorfindel was always by his side, supporting him. This was the time he discovered how much Mírion loved flowers. He was mesmerized by them and could spend hours next to them.

On Glorfindel's suggestion, as soon as Mírion was well healed, Elrond trusted him with taking care of Imladris' flowers. Mírion was delighted. One would not even see him anymore among the walls of the Last Homely House, he spent so much time outside. He even slept under trees, until several Elves built him a small hut. They called it lovingly "Brewery", for, as it turned out, Mírion was very skilled with herbs. Teas, healing balms, tinctures and so on, all were readily available in his hut. He even cultivated a small lavender field.

Glorfindel inhaled the scent of the rose tea and warmed his hands on the cup. He stole a look at Mírion who sat across him, nursing the same cup of tea. Mírion caught his look and smiled beatifically at the warrior.

"Excellent tea", said Glorfindel. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Mírion, your hut is the only place where I find solace. How do you do that? Before you came, I could not even sleep well. Now you're here and all I need is your company to feel better whenever I am chased by my demons."

Mírion nodded slowly. He leaned forward and put his hand of the top of Glorfindel's. His touch was light and warm and so was his smile, which made Glorfindel's heart leap with joy.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The part of Imladris, where Mírion lived, was not far from the main building, but it was like stepping into an enchanted forest. Flowers opened everywhere, the trees were big and lush, and plenty of birds have moved in since Mírion has arrived. Some Elves even spotted foxes and owls. 

"Is he a Maia?", wondered one Elf. Elrond opened his mouth, but then said nothing. Truth was, he was equally confused by Mírion. The young Elf was a lovely, friendly being, very close to animals, and his forest was.... somewhat mysterious. As if alive. His knowledge of herbs has surpassed of anyone Elrond ever has known. He had the Light of the Trees in his eyes. 

And Glorfindel followed him like a dog. 

Not that Elrond would have had anything against it. He was glad that Glorfindel found himself some company. But there was something.... fishy. It was not the young Elf. Mírion was lovely and beautiful. In his silence and calm serenity he was similar to the evening breeze. 

His clothes underlined that. Everything he wore, was in the shade of grey and dark blue. When he wore the headdress, given to him by Glorfindel, he truly looked like a Maia of Estë. 

That headdress was the other thing that made Elrond think. It was designed and commissioned by Glorfindel. The warrior had some mithril in his possession and he asked the goldsmith of Imladris to make a silver headdress with mithril drops for Mírion. It was not even something a male Elf would wear, but when they first saw Mírion wearing it, they gasped. It made his appearance royal and ethereal. In fact, Elrond caught himself bowing to him and he was not the only one.

But Glorfindel.... Elrond frowned. Glorfindel was literally courting Mírion. Apart from the headdress, he brought him small gifts, spent a lot of time with him, and they were caught several times holding each other, standing in the forest, embracing, for long minutes, as if bewitched. Elrond couldn't help but think back of his ancestor who was equally bewitched by the great and wise Melian. 

It was one thing if one fell in love, but it was a totally different thing when said one fell in love with someone of his own gender.

Elrond knew very well that there were people who indulged in sexual activites with partners of the same gender. He was wise and tolerant enough to dismiss such things, and he didn't consider them more than passion-fueled adventures. Such relationships would not produce offsprings thus were unnatural. Never ever among the Elves did he experience such thing. 

And Glorfindel totally looked as if he was in love with Mírion.

"Aiya, my head..."

Elrond rubbed his temple, but then froze. As he looked down from the balcony, he saw Glorfindel and Mírion. They were sitting on a bench, or, to be more precise, Glorfindel was sitting on the bench, and held Mírion in his lap. The youth rested his head on the warrior's shoulder, and they were just... sitting there, enjoying each other's company. They looked like sculptures.

Elrond turned on his heels. Tonight, he was going to talk to Glorfindel.


	3. The Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tender moments between Glorfindel and Mírion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went for an ASMR feeling.

* * *

Glorfindel loved his hair being brushed.

They were in Mírion's little hut. Outside, the wind was howling, and the sound of hard rain on the roof was like million diamonds shattering. It was a dark night, starless, dangerous.

Except here, in Mírion's hut. In the fireplace, warm, friendly fire kept on dancing. It ate the wood with slight cracking noises, and surrounded everything with golden glow. The fragrance of rose tea swam in the air, and Mírion's deft fingers and wooden comb were deep in his warrior's heavy, golden hair.

It was Mírion's idea, actually. The little elf couldn't make out what has happened between Lord Elrond and Glorfindel that evening, but he knew that after dinner, the warrior and the Lord had some discussion - and after it, Glorfindel was in a really dark mood. 

Mírion looked questioningly at his guardian, but Glorfindel didn't tell him anything. He just took Mírion in his arms, and held him for a long time. Afterwards, he took Mírion's hand, and lead him to the hut.

"Prepare me some tea", he whispered.

Mírion gladly obliged but he was sure that only tea would not ease the warrior's tension, so as soon as the tea was made, he grabbed his comb, stood behind Glorfindel, and gently, very gently, began to comb the heavy locks.

Soon, Glorfindel's shoulders dropped, and a sigh escaped his lips. He slightly bowed forward, eyes closed. 

Mírion boldly immersed his fingers in the golden hair, and begin to massage Glorfindel 's scalp. His fingertips drew gentle circle on the warrior's forehead, his temples. He massaged Glorfindel's nape, and gently scratched his scalp first with the comb and then his nails.

Glorfindel felt in heaven. Nobody ever pampered him, except his parents long, long time ago; and when he felt the fingers on his scalp, it filled him with such a pleasure that he moaned from it. 

Then came the brush. It was a silver brush, another gift from Glorfindel. He loved to watch Mírion brushing his hair and now the same brush was sliding in his hair, slowly, from the top to the bottom, again and again, and again. 

The wind was howling, but he couldn't care less. The fire was warming them; the fragrance of herbs was calming his nerves; and the steady brushing lulled him. He leaned forward, put his folded arms on the desk and rested his forehead on them.

His hair was a golden floof around him, shiny, untangled. He felt close to asleep. The brushing slowly stopped; blindly, he felt Mírion helping him up and leading him towards the bed. He gained enough strength to strip his clothing, leaving him only in a long white shirt; then he fell into the bed and closed his eyes. He felt Mírion's lithe body next to his, and with the last clear moment of his mind, he pulled the young elf close to him, nestled him in his arms and tucked his head under his chin, before both of them falling into deep, calm sleep.


End file.
